


In His Every Step,

by Tias



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monsters, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Childhood fluff, M/M, Mama Senju's in here too, fluff and exposition now that I think about it but c'est la vie, just a wee bit more mild than my already existing penchant, monster lads are IN, my ass is OUT in a grave with these descriptions, shitposting is also in, with mentions of Itama and Kawarama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-23 05:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16612631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tias/pseuds/Tias
Summary: There were often times Madara wondered where his oldest friends had gone to and whether their assurance would come to be, or if it was to keep him running on hope.Even in the dance of death, their assurance was the sole reason his feet kept moving. Moving away from home, friends and most importantly: family. From a shroud of village secrets, he departed for the thicket that had been the cause of fear since before his time, only to find a secondary shroud that might spell his end.





	1. there is joyful curiosity.

**Author's Note:**

> the feeling of skipping the beginning to writing monster lads is not a good one, but a necessary one
> 
> in any case, another idea that came to mind that I can't seem to stop thinking about

_“Do you feel jealousy, children?”_

_“No.”_

_“Is the pain worth it?”_

_“It’s a necessity.”_

_“Will you protect them?”_

_“To our last breath.”_

 

* * *

 

There had always been a time of peace, no matter the duration. Even when the quaint little village became accustomed to abrupt changes between livelihood and dreariness, townsfolk waited for the day that tranquility would submerge their home once more. It was the period of mourning, sometimes spanning the length of a week depending on the count of death, that cast grey over town grounds.

Few coherent paths were paved through the surrounding thicket, often times disturbed by overgrown roots that split concrete. Others had placed signs and arrows that herbage threatened to swallow with ascending vines. Visitors and travelling salesmen were welcomed to the village, though not without scrutiny. When orange conquered the sky, the gates were to be closed until the coming morning.

Madara’s upbringing had always fallen in the line of merriment.

Strict parents aside, it became custom for him to roam the streets with Izuna in tow. Izuna was less than pleased being dragged out of the comfort of his bed, out of the warmth of his home by the insistence of his brother to go collect the first serving of bread every morning, just as dawn broke. His sole saving grace. despite the look of death plastered to his visage and having to turn or pause, was the twinkle in his older brother’s eyes.

Izuna’s neck ached as a result of Madara’s insistence at standing behind.

The village market in particular, where the scent of baked goods and cinnamon wafted, was their favoured to explore. Where the scent danced and carried along with it a hint of cardamom, fueling the titters and compliments drowned in the sea of people. Stands of varying craftsmanship formed both circles and rows, each category of sales secluded in their corner or space. Merchants hollered loud and touted their wares, brandishing the finest, most polished items. Unsuspecting passersby were swept to and fro, visiting the spirited premise and often leaving with more than anticipated or quarrelling over prices.

He never took the time to inspect the faces and just barely a teen as he was, Madara could weave through the people with certain ease. Voices and words alike formed an unending blur through countless murmurs and warbles of excitement. Veering off to the far left housed his favourite area: fish vendors. Carefully placed crates that resembled a set of stairs awaited and Madara took his seat at the very top.

Much like most days, a familiar whistle garnered his attention and with a hasty whip of the head, he peered down to the extended platter of grilled fish strips. Graciously accepting, he crossed his legs to use as a makeshift table, gaze sweeping across countless visages that were soon to be forgotten. Madara committed to the act of memorizing the layout.

Yet, on this day, he was drawn to slippery threads. He felt he was watching himself dragging Izuna from afar, only with a change in appearance. One who’s hair bobbed with each step and another with strands of frazzled white that seemed to haven risen and created the curl of a wave. It was remarkable, how similar the scene had come to be. Leading with uncontained excitement. Trailed after by the epitome of exhaustion. Their attire was on the more interesting side of things. Wearing a jumper as pants was less than ideal by village standards, and an overgrown blouse did nothing to compliment the attempted fashion statement. If there was one to be had in the first place. Thankfully, the boy with a snowfield in place of hair donned a robe, though too large for his form. The end trailed after his every step; a worn book edge barely able to peak beyond material.

He blinked his eyes multiple times, head tilting owlishly in the process.

Again, much like most days, he descended with stable footing and approached the front table to return the aluminium plate. Broad toothy grin shaping his mouth, he barely spared an audible thanks before escaping the overflowing marketplace. That was ordinary life for him.

Almost, at least, had he not broken into a stride to try and find what charged his dormant curiosity. Before he would come to a complete stop and end his atrocious attempts at hiding behind walls, strung up carpets, abandoned booths and pots in which several of him could fit, he came to realize he had already reached the outskirts of the town. A barren area consisting of large metal beams and planks, transparent lidded buckets filled with wet cement.

He figured the odd route taken was a means to shake him off. Not that he was able to tell why he chased after them, rather it was the work of impulse.

Madara was startled by the large sigh of exhilaration, few chuckles woven in with each inhalation. He dared to show just a sliver of his face, enough to be able to view the other two. Only he was greeted with curled lips exhibiting rows of teeth and a face all too close to his. He yelped and stumbled over himself, on the verge of falling backwards.

The firm grip on his forearm prevented any form of tumble.

It was safe to say Madara was partially awestruck, if only by the blinding smile that graced his sight. The other, just behind his saviour, was less than pleased. His brows were drawn close, lips pursed and right nostril twitching.

“ _Brother, we need to leave,_ ” he reminded slowly.

Whilst the bowl cut bobbed in agreeance, Madara blinked. It took him a moment to find his coherency. “Wait! I’ve never seen either of you here! Are you from outside?”

The taller of the two’s thumb pressed against his chin, head turning back to face Madara. “You could say that, yeah!” He started, enthusiasm overflowing. Yet again, there was a notable slow to his words, as if attempting to figure out what was to be said next. “Just a bit of rest before heading out!”

“Then you’ll be staying overnight?”

“Overnight? Why would w-” the taller turned his head to face his younger brother, only to quiet himself through the look of a hardened countenance and narrowed eyes. “...overnight, yes,” he mumbled. Facing Madara again, he offered an apologetic smile and retracted his hand. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow shortly after dawn breaks. I’m Hashirama, and this is my brother Tobirama,” he introduced, lilt present as his hand motioned between bodies.  

“Madara,” he grinned. Once his arms were free, he set them upon his haunches and released a thoughtful hum. “Well, if you’re leaving tomorrow, I can show you around!” He flicked both index fingers towards the two; nodding mindlessly to himself. The answers came instantaneously through one’s smile that mirrored a ray of sunshine and the other’s ever deepening frown.

Madara sidestepped around the two and pointed in the same direction they entered from. “We’ll be heading that way, since this is practically the outskirt,” he commented. When shifting to face Hashirama, a smidge of colour crawled into the corner of his peripheral. A full body turn and he stared at the barrier, mouth agape as he only just took in the partial construction site. A single glance could determine no full grown adult would have been able to fit, only those between mid-teen and child ages. The curio that came with such damage was the sudden flourish of flora. Varying in colour, spread over the rim to infiltrate the interior of the walling.  

Tobirama stared intently, eyebrows drawing close even as he looked up to Hashirama. “I-I wonder what could’ve caused this!” the elder brother stammered, scratching the back of his head. “M-maybe some sort of… small creature?”

“Or maybe someone used a… hammer… or something. We should probably not be here,” Madara replied hastily.

As the acting tour guide, he trailed behind Hashirama and Tobirama, informing them on landmarks and the general structure of the village. Once returning to the comfort and vibrance of the market square, Madara took a deep breath, skin tingling with the echoing final call for fresh bread. Had there been more time on the clock, he would have given a thorough look through of each tradesman and their wares.

The horde of people began to disband come the first orange streak to corrupt blue. Children were either ushered off or thrown over shoulders like sacks of potatoes, parents disregarding whines to stay for a little bit longer. There was unusual rapidity amidst scurrying humans, gaining the brothers’ attention.

“How come everyone is leaving so early?” Hashirama pondered, looking to his guide.

“There’s a curfew set by the village elders,” Madara murmured, gaze sliding to his right. “It generally starts as soon as it gets dark and lasts until morning, but the market’s the first to clear out.”

Tobirama refrained from asking questions, opting to look on ahead. Hashirama nudged his side and earned a look of disapproval, more so with what had been whispered in his ear. They both took a step back and awkwardly extended their arms to the side, grasping Madara’s hands. Naturally, there was surprise, head moving right to left and back. He also realized they’d have to be on even footing now, or at least for the brothers to step ahead of him.

They continued walking through streets of both narrow and wide variety, commenting on the various clotheslines hanging between windows and the patterns adorning bedsheets. In the far off distance, where Madara would have no ability to hear any sort of noise, a pair complained about missing items from their line. It lead Hashirama to pause, survey the surroundings and take a sharp left to avoid any form of confrontation that _could_ be. Madara, whilst confused, went along with the sheepish excuse of ‘wanting to know what was there’.

Pressing forth past the opening, they progressively came to a stop, clutching hands tightly. More so on Tobirama’s side than Hashirama’s. Rambunctious laughter and feats of strength rung within the small inn, accompanied by shrill giggles and sloshing beverages that spilled onto avenues all together. The trio shared a glance and snuck into the building, secluding themselves in a corner to watch intricacies and interaction. Eyes had never stilled beyond a handful of seconds, storing glimpses to their memory. From the two secluded in the corner, fingertips rapping away upon wood or tending to their partner’s hand with gentle strokes to the new flocking of patrons and what seemed to be the sound of cracking wood.

They scurried outside at the sight of the innkeeper, leaving a trail of giggles in their escape. Madara’s sight took to darkening skies, the brothers following.  

“Where are you two staying?” he asked. Neither of them had looked to each other. Perhaps there was understanding on Madara’s part that there was nowhere for them to go or he had simply made assumptions based on their attire. After a minute of silence, fingers slithered through a mass of black hair and locked together. He spoke up again. “You can stay with me until tomorrow, if you want.”

Tobirama, who had been standing by Hashirama’s side, averted his gaze from clouds to brother. Worry bubbled within irises; the younger skeptical of the offer and the elder hopeful. He only hoped Hashirama would make the right decision.

“Only if there won’t be an issue,” Hashirama replied. “And only until dawn.”   

 

* * *

 

Madara urged them indoors and pressed hands to their backs, quickly leading them through to the far end of the corridor. Once they had settled into his room, he had entered, exited and repeated the process a number of times. He presented something new with each entry: mattresses, duvets, blankets, pillows, bowls, cutlery - Hashirama and Tobirama stood with occupied hands, balancing the proffered items.

“You can put them down!” Madara hissed, volume lowered as not to gain suspicion. His mother was aware. After all, Madara was a noisy teenager and sneaking about on wooden floorboards was not his forté. Even the mornings where he took it upon himself to create breakfast was a ticking sound bomb in itself.  

When he had finished gathering essentials, he crept into the kitchen and scooped out his mother’s cooking into a bowl, mirroring the same exaggerated movement on the way out.

“Madara,” came a voice.

He closed his eyes, lifted his chin and exhaled coolly.

“I’m fashionably late,” he said. “Like most days.”

“Like most days,” his mother mimicked, “you’re the first to steal food.”

“I don’t steal food! I appreciate it,” he huffed, pout emerging.

“Will you be appreciating three bowls’ worth of food then?” his mother enquired, motioning towards his amassed theft. Madara nodded confidently, peeking at his mother with a cheeky grin. “Good, then you’ll introduce your friends in the morning.”

By the time Madara returned, his head hung dejectedly. The tower of cooked goods filling his bowl held together precariously. Stomach growls emitted from both brothers, whose eyes were glued to the assortment of fried proteins, vegetables, rice and glistening sauce. He carefully dismantled the tower and distributed food, going so far as to give them larger portions by lessening his own.

The unmistakable twinkle in their eyes had Madara wondering between and during each mouthful.

Being the fast eater he was, he set aside his bowl and moved to assemble the futons. Hashirama and Tobirama - only after being told off by Madara for eating too fast - eventually savoured their food, carefully chewing to assess texture and taste.

When all three bowls had been emptied, Madara collected the cutlery and placed them atop a bed stand. All three were seated, legs folded over each other and hands grasping ankles.

“So,” Madara started, “you two came here on your own?” When they nodded together, he probed further. “Do you have parents?”

“Just a father but he’s… often busy,” said Hashirama, head partially lifted and tilted when considering what words to use.

“And you’ll be leaving tomorrow? For sure?”

“We have to,” Tobirama mumbled. They hadn’t seemed all too keen on the idea, and it was written on their faces with bold letters. Hence why Madara pondered until unfurling his legs, running to and fro inside of his room to collect books, parchment and ink.

What ensued was a night of stained skin and clothing, uneven lines marking a trio of visages, hands and shins. Izuna had come to question both bickering and titters, only to have a portion of his cheek coated in the process. There was no need to try and convince him to join, having picked up a damp brush to hunt after his brother.

 

* * *

 

Madara woke in his bed, sluggishly attempting to climb out. Only he rolled into another sleeping log. He blinked and looked again. Two logs. Squished between Hashirama and Madara was Tobirama, who had worry grooved into the creases of his forehead. The lack of light seeping in through his open window was the only indication dawn had yet to break, thus leaving him sink into the mattress.

When morning arrived, Tobirama and Hashirama had been standing by the window, basking in the morning glow. Surreptitious vines nestled into the very corner of the windowsill, escaping through outward growth.

Beneath a bundle of blankets Madara had snored off into the deep sea of sleep. Izuna, who allowed himself into the room, rolled his brother closer towards the edge, creating a furled tube and held hands with Hashirama and Tobirama. At the count of three, they jumped and flattened themselves over sections of Madara. He awoke with a raucous squawk.

 

* * *

 

They stayed especially after the sight of Madara snarking with his mother. The traits he inherited were in full clarity. Were the level of burns he attained when attempting to best his mother literal, he would have been in critical condition.

They stayed not out of reluctance, but out of the fact that they wanted to experience more. There was something in the village that drew them, this much they knew when they first entered. It was in the days that they extended their stay, much to their surprise, that they realized it was the work of the boy who noticed them and in that vein, the family that treated them as their own.  

Days on end, they spent in the comfort of Madara’s home or tending to his father’s garden through Hashirama’s knowledge on plant behaviour. Other times were spent fishing and wondering exactly how Tobirama was able to extract fish so easily from a river beyond the village’s safety. The brothers even managed to have a scrupulous rundown of the market square. He’d been thrilled to learn that Tobirama lingered and preferred the fish vendor.

Throughout the long days, Madara was overjoyed. He swelled with such admiration for the friends he managed to make, from Hashirama’s unending mirth to Tobirama’s reluctant approval and fragmented smile. The expression he wore on his face was legitimate in every sense of the word. His gratitude suffused with his every move, every word to make certain it had been displayed at any given time. He was far too attached to even begin the prospect of leaving, as was their initial plan.

The prospect he did well to forget.

Back at the abode, Tobirama had a proclivity for nabbing books off Madara’s shelves and scanning through the contents, pausing at words he hadn’t understood to jot down and ask at a later point. He made sure to ask both Madara and Izuna, the latter being his preferred for concise answers and the former for an exaggerated response.

The nights Madara dozed off mid conversation, he leaned on Tobirama’s side. Vice versa would seldom occur and Hashirama’s shoulders were prime pillow material for both. Madara had no idea of the growing ache in his friends’ chests. He merely laughed, taught and slept; another patch of comfort and love embroidered into the velveteen surface of his heart.

Night had long since fallen. The brothers looked between one another and Madara’s snoozing.

“We can’t stay here any longer,” Tobirama started. A frown chipped away at his countenance, mirroring the very same that brought his brother’s lips to droop.

“I know. Tomorrow morning we’ll say our thanks and farewell.”

 

* * *

 

On their last day, their morning routine hadn’t changed.

Madara had gone from squawking to outright yelling, chucking pillows hazardously at the perpetrators. Izuna, the creeping gremlin, fled for the kitchen after Madara had fallen out of bed. Tobirama and Hashirama tailed after Izuna, at least one wide grin in view. As per the routine, seated on the floor, he contemplated his life and why his mornings had become so painful to endure.

Like their first day, fingers twined together. Hashirama and Tobirama lead their guide to the village gates without forewarning, earning brows that fluctuated from rising out of confusion and lowering. Pangs of understanding stemmed within fingertips, progressively spreading.

“You’re finally leaving?” He asked, though it resembled more a squeak.

He received his answer once they stopped short at the gates, and there was no need for them to verbally respond.

“Thank you for taking care of us,” Hashirama nodded, shaking Madara’s hand multiple times. “But we really do need to return.”  

He attempted to steel himself, overwhelmed by the sudden influx of emotions. He inhaled sharply, nodding vigorously.

“We’ll return some day,” Tobirama assured. Madara trembled in place, akin to the ripples of disturbed waters. They both approach, planted a kiss on either cheek and absconded before he had the time to react, let alone say something.

They were words kept close to his heart, as close as the pecks.

By the time he returned home to his room, dusk was on the verge of consuming the skies. Tucked into the corner of the windowsill, blooming red flora encompassed a folded piece of parchment with distinct serrated handwriting: _thank you_. He expected the string of oddly shaped hearts to be the work of Hashirama in Tobirama’s work.  

 

* * *

 

_Now, to keep the village safe, one only had to learn how to strike a contract with the right sort of defense. What came after was for the elders to pick apart and decide what to reveal. How and when to reveal it. Children, no doubt, were to be kept in the dark at any and all given points. The ever present debate of weaponry and teaching to adults or any who had wanted to be versed in such loomed much like a shadow._

_A shadow often denied, leaving silhouettes to grow in unpredictable places. Ones that lead to outrage and prompted elders to rethink their decision._

_Only there was no decision made._


	2. the distance to confirmation shortens.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions are sweet. 
> 
> Sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspirations at the end - please take these monster lads away from my hands they're too beautiful
> 
> do I have Madara ready? I do but lord knows I'm lazy when it comes to writing  
> is there a hint to what his transformation'll resemble in here? but of course

Thereabouts a decade passed and Madara had yet to give the hope in his heart any form of rest. Grey began arising, starting as blobs in the most obscure of areas. Nothing could compare to the brightness of those days and his saving grace was his family, leaving them as vivid as ever.

The pep in his footing brought a halt to his runs, replaced with a walk that forced the full sole to flatten upon soil and concrete.

He revisited the outskirts, inn and the market daily, hoping to find even the smallest hint. Each day there was nothing new and he fretted. He fret until he came home to family, in which the warmth of his abode was able to do away with his worries until he slept.

 

* * *

 

Madara recalled the various voices of village elders speaking on the topic of monsters, even now, early in the morning as he bound towards his favourite spot of solace. Away from the dreariness that sunk its claws into his once vibrant home. Recollection came as a broken record, bouncing between elders and older townsfolk.

_Beware._

Amidst all words, Madara had caution painted over his skin as if it were protection in itself.

_They say there’s not even a scrap of flesh left on bones. All shards and clothes._

He remembered the collective gasps, the whimpers and grumbles of uncertainty through the inn’s cracked window. The straight formation of his lips waned, expression sliding from right to left and back until he’d finally bitten his lower lip out of pure frustration.

Madara despised the situation.

The first time he’d been informed as a late teen, he felt his world crumble but the need to keep his family safe restructured his outlook. He noticed people lived in perpetual fear, the lie they wore on their lips and the fake gleam of joy in their eyes. Some had already lost their will to live, citing it a cycle of death. Others dubbed it as confinement. Isolation. Repentance for past wrongdoings. Whatever it was, it was certain to keep them in at any given time. Word had spread and there was no longer an influx of wandering tradesmen, only a market square that attempted to bring life into the village in the early hours of the day.

His anger, however, stemmed from a lack of knowledge. They _knew_ something was there, but no one had returned to shed light on the topic. _What_ they were in their entirety, _where_ they came from, their _intentions_ \- enigmatic, at the very least. These were the questions at the forefront of his mind, acting as a barricade against the myriad of inquiries on the finer details.

_Will --- village --- next ---_

A near violent flick of the head cleared his mind. Dried leaves crunched beneath his every step, crumbling and vanishing with the wind. Green, yellow, orange and brown followed after him on his path. Emerging past greenery, the sun already settled into the clear blue expanse above.

Madara inhaled deeply, broad toothy smile adorning his mouth as it often did in this particular area. Silhouettes of forgotten friends taunted him, shards coming together only to disband when attaining his full focus. His gaze darted between the similar forest ahead and the _almost_ uninterrupted flow of water-

There was something off.

A splash rung within Madara’s ears, evoking a quirked brow. Hushed snickers and giggles emerged from nearby, closer towards the river side.

Parts of his face twitched, more to the sounds of gargling than anything other he’d managed to pick up on.

Rising to situate himself on his toes, he crept towards the fading noise and progressively lowered himself to the cracked soil beneath him. Using his elbows, he pushed himself towards the edge and squinted at the two others wading through the midsection of the river, arms flung here and there to splash the other. A lack of distinction lead to the belief that they were merely regular men.

Not once in Madara’s time visiting had he seen anyone of his own age, less so that they were _cheerful_.

Was it possible to be cheerful during a time of despair? To smile so earnestly, casting boisterous laughter to the wind as if it were no one’s business, to simply _enjoy_ -

Twinges bloomed within his torso. He grit his teeth and retreated from the edge, settling on his side. His forearm rose to offer shade against the harsh sunlight, lowering to his eyes which closed in the process. Jealousy struck like a blade to skin, deeper with each consuming thought. Quieted grumbles trickled from the corner of his mouth, ending with a huff.  

The sounds of disturbed water and wind caressing his form had _almost_ felt right, save for the incoherent yelling. He was undeniably enthralled by calm, twining with the wind to keep him in place.

Was _he_ allowed respite? Would it be possible to go and socialize with them? To find-

Madara flipped onto his stomach once water and voice alike adopted the same calm, returning to his former position. Wide eyes scanned the riverbed, searching for the other two. The shorter had disappeared, leaving one to muss out his hair in his languid walk towards shadowed greenery. Another shift in position had him swing his legs over the edge and slide down the short arch, announcing his presence through tumbling rocks and coughs.

He swatted at the air, having brought dust with his descent. He did well to earn the other’s attention, if only because he could catch a glimpse of a single stance that indicated he was only moments away from sprinting off. Madara held his arms up, coughing through his dust-riddled inhalation. What compelled him to do such in the first place couldn’t be explained in words. It felt reminiscent, that much he knew.

“W-wait!” Madara cried out, frantic in his movement that only served to be detrimental.

Fingers came to curl over his right forearm like pliant branches, progressively bringing Madara’s actions to a halt. With the slight tilt of the head, he squinted through the cloud he produced and exhaled calmly. A scene of old had almost felt it was in the works.

There was a single word on his mind: _rough._

Perhaps unnaturally so, even.

A palm slid beneath his wrist to offer a platform of support, gingerly squeezing. Madara rose with ease, eventually finding his footing. He’d then lost the support from the other figure, almost stumbling over himself with the subconscious drift of his body. There was a tenderness in that touch he could only hope to one day experience again. An assuring grip that spoke to him in words he couldn’t understand, but one he felt years ago.

Once the haze dissipated, Madara began to open his eyes.

It only took a second for his blood to still and chill over, for the inability to blink to manifest.

Standing before him could only, in Madara’s words, be considered a parasitic tree attempting to control a body. The mesh of wood and skin was made apparent on his countenance when his nose had been ultimately replaced with an extension of timber, hooked inwards at the apex. Gnarled unpolished horns descended from the right and left sides of his forehead: twisted, concealing the rammus and jawline in its growth, sprouting and connecting from the chin in coils. Ink consumed the skin around his eyes and cheekbones, dribbling down the cheeks in various lines. The most prominent had been two thicker stripes close to the nose, the rest thin and making way towards the throat.

Patches of moss clung to his limbs, odd spirals of wood with thin sprigs protecting what remained of human appendage. The hand used to aid had been entirely concealed, with narrow shoots emerging past fingertips. The other, however, was reduced to a motionless block, nearing triple the size of a human’s with progressive claw development. A chain of raised stumps aligned upon his spine, along the shoulders and outward from the small of his back, currently housed budding foliage. A pair of humanoid hands had been molded through excess wood piled upon the stumps, of varied sizes and poses that indicated prayers, anger, peace and reconciliation without order.

Said hand also pulled away once he came to realize Madara was staring at the other’s face, in which wooden tusks replaced lower canines, rising towards the nose. Both mouths were firmly shut.

To the other’s surprise, the grip had been kept and Madara sought to pair his other hand with his unoccupied one to the best of his ability. Inclining his head, he’d blinked at the human. Confusion, despite the lack of full facial viewing, was exhibited. Madara bit the inside of his cheek, refraining from outright snapping at the other. Once he steeled his resolve, he’d thrown his head back and offered an unstable glance.

The half tree’s right eye, a consuming void with only honey yellow spheres for pupils and an adjacent ring of the same shade, unblinking.

An incredibly miniscule part of Madara had become awestruck, the rest consumed by a tide of untempered anger. Vocalization would not come to be. Not when he could feel bark tracing out circles against the back of his hand.

Naturally, he was skeptical, but it was the fact the other before him was part of both worlds that kept his tongue still. That he would help as opposed to take advantage of a downed Madara. That would attempt _soothing_ in place of impaling him. His glance flit from limb to face, alternating between the two hastily. Familiarity nipped at him, but he pushed confirmation away.

 _It couldn’t possibly be._  

“...what are you?” came the eventual question. The defiant tone that often accompanied his words had died down to little more than a fragment. Madara peered at the shifting formation of the other’s lips around tusks.

Unfurling his hands, he pointed towards Madara, then to the far left towards the gathering of trees, where supposed monsters lurked.

“Can you not speak?” Madara leaned forward. He was quick to jump back the moment the addressed had opened his mouth, pointing at the blossoming flower situated upon the flat of his tongue. Broad petals coloured a deep red, stamens nearing the verge of tickling the roof of his mouth.

There was no longer any room available for doubt and that which currently existed swiftly morphed into unease as it almost seemed a replica of the decade old gift appeared.

Unbeknownst to Madara, however, is that an iridescent gleam surfaced by way of the river. The remaining hairs on the other’s nape rose and with a mindful tug, he attempted to lead the human.

Madara refused to move, but he also refused to think anything beyond coincidence. That he was currently stuck in a horrific nightmare, a play on his imagination, maybe he was still napping-

_“Hashirama! Stop dawdling and hurry up!”_

_Hashirama? The one and the same?_

Madara broke out of a minor daze and tightened his grip, preventing him from leaving. Inhaling sharply, he yelled at the top of his lungs to get his message across. “No! You’re going to explain what you are!” Darkened irises lingered upon Hashirama’s defeated expression: tongue extended, eyes half lidded, visible corners of his mouth drooping.

Curiosity nipped at the human. Bit him. Enticed him to see what lurked in the waters, as minutes had passed and no such figure emerged. His anger turned to trepidation. Trepidation to dread. Dread that lead his every muscle, every nerve into a whirlpool and drowned out logic. If it was the very same Hashirama of the past, then only one other name rested on the tip of his tongue.

Without so much a word, _he_ was the one to tug the partial tree along and what started as a trot slowed to a complete stop.

Madara’s eyes landed upon the serpentine creature, mouth agape. The smooth figure slithered towards land, scales scintillating within the river’s safety. Large extremities grasped at dry pebbles, pulling himself out enough to reveal the midsection of his torso. Lengthy whitened strands clung to his face, neck and shoulders - over eyes that bore blackened sclera and small honey yellow pupils, the center point between three red slits. The structure of his nose had been flattened, leaving only nostrils upon raised skin. A finless tail of midnight blue to accompany his colour scheme.

It was important to note that webbed fingers were longer than any human’s. Protective bone capped the digit tips, lengthening to form claws. A secondary ragged growth guided bone towards the second joints and skyward, tips curved as means to blunt them. At least, Madara believed it to be an important note. More than the steadily fading gills adorning either side of his neck. More than the red stripes inked into his face - the very same that descended from the underside of his bicep to wrist, between ribcage and hips. It curled towards the abdomen akin to waves, as if ink had been animated upon his body before permanently setting in.

That which held Madara’s attention, however, were the rows of attenuated daggers in replacement for teeth: ivory and extending past pencil-thin lips. A string of water globes circulated his neck to wet gills periodically, having found shelter amidst a protective half circle of raised, bristling abundance of quills from one collarbone to the other.

"Hashirama-” he hissed, water gushing through the gaps of his teeth, “ _let go of his hands_.”

“...Tobirama,” Madara muttered.

The end of Tobirama’s tail rose, affixed to it carved bone of unknown origination - bearing the schematic of a forged dagger, pointed by way of the human. As slowly as Tobirama had come to squint, Madara could have sworn the red slits circulating his eyes had begun to move inward. “There is only one human that knows the name,” he revealed at a pace slower than usual, guttural, “and he is not meant to be here.”

“What do you mean not meant to be here?! You’re not meant to be a monster!” Madara countered, the lilt in his voice leaning towards panic. He flinched when water landed on his feet, twitched when snarls filled his ears.

“Ask your village elders, Madara. And don’t return here.”

As much as it had pained Tobirama to say such words, it was for Madara’s own good. There were only two monsters that would withhold killing and Madara was lucky to have befriended them so long ago. In a time where his life was filled to the brim with colour, wandering through village grounds without knowledge of the outside worries, ignorance _was_ bliss. The burdens of protection fell on shoulders higher than his. On shoulders that accepted their responsibilities from a young age. On shoulders that no longer were accepted by humans.

A sundry of emotions needled into Madara’s skin, each painfully tugging on the strings of his heart. “You mean to say the village elders know of you two?” he asked, quivering in both body and voice. “Why can’t you two tell me?! What was the point in telling me we’d meet again all those years ago?!”

Hashirama glanced at his brother, who had gone to submerge himself within water. “There… was hope that we could meet under different circumstances,” came a mumble. To Madara’s surprise, it hadn’t been Tobirama to speak, but instead the raspy tone that Hashirama now adopted. Slightly muffled, growing flora placement considered. His vision filled with brilliant scales.

“What different circumstances could there ever be?!” Madara snapped.

The answer had been made apparent through the lack of one in the first place. His heart leapt in his chest, wildly beating and igniting the shallowness to his breath. He hung onto the belief that he would meet them for so many years and it did nothing but currently impair his ability to think. Lost between relief that they were alive and dismay at their change, he finally released Hashirama’s hands.

“At least… tell me how long you’ve been this way. _You owe me that much_ ,” he breathed, dropping decibels with the past tickling away beneath his flesh. Small bubbles burst upon reaching the river’s surface; Madara’s eyes lingering on Tobirama’s. A flicker of annoyance glazed over the black of his eyes.

He propped himself onto his elbows, using the pebbles as a means to steady his upper body. Hashirama, on the other hand, gave rise to high vines and sprouted a line of broad leaves as protection against the sun. Tobirama placed his chin within a palm, claws dipping into skin and tail gradually forming a whorl.

“Before we visited,” he replied. Madara lowered himself, folding his legs carefully. “As children, we lived in the same village as you did. We left once we were of age.” To forgo specific details, he craned his head to the side where Hashirama stood, who had since relocated the flower to a patch of moss stuck to the mid section of his hair. “But Hashirama wanted to visit whilst we still had the chance, so he broke through a wall instead of using the gates.”

“It was night the first time we entered!” Hashirama pouted. “I didn’t want to wait.”

Madara recalled the morning of their meeting with fondness, but his subconscious tugged and painted their clothing with neon signs. “...that... explains your reaction to the wall and why you went there, but the clothing?”

“Hashirama stole them with a few vines.”

“Would you have preferred being tiny naked monsters walking around a human village?!”

“We had clothes, Hashirama!” he barked, spitting out a mouthful of water.

“But… we outgrew them,” he pouted once more, human skin swelling with air.

Madara was in utter disbelief. They may have been monsters, but they quarrelled like he would with Izuna - over asinine topics no less. Regardless of the bygone warmth that greeted him anew, his heart thumped almost to a deafening point. Madara watched the slow slide of Tobirama’s eyes and the fall from visage to chest.

“You won’t die here, but you can if you don’t follow village rules,” Tobirama extended his pinkie at the human. “They’re there for a reason.”

“Wha- how are you so sure I’m afrai-”

“Your heartbeat is not the first I’ve heard, nor will it be the last. It’s the same rhythm every time,” he cut off. It only brought a stutter to the pattern, shoulders partly rising from Tobirama. His tail unfurled reluctantly, scooping water with the bone addendum to chuck at Madara. It sprayed over rock and fabric alike, stirring an initial panic that consumed Tobirama’s hearing. “Stop being so afraid, I can barely hear anything because of you.”

“Wh-,” Madara started, arms raised to protect himself from fiendish waters. “What the hell do you mean ‘stop being so afraid’?! You’re a monster and you threw water at me! What if you threw something else at me?!”

“We’ve already come to this conclusion,” Tobirama growled. “And you’re still alive. As whiny as ever, too.”

Madara raised a finger, staring at him incredulously. “I didn’t come here to be told off by a human snake!”

“What do you think I would’ve thrown at you?” came the question, hiding an underlying tone of amusement. His cheek found comfort along the arc of bone attached to his closed hand.

“What if you were hiding something in your tail!? I’d have died!” Madara yelled, hands lost under the thickness of his unkempt hair. The twitch of Tobirama’s lips hadn’t gone unnoticed, but it did little to ease the situation.

“Who’s to say I’m not?” The serpentine male squared his shoulders, falling on an exhale.

“You absolute bastard! Is this what you do with your prey - mind games!? Drive them insane!?”

“It could be.” The absolute joy of riling up Madara surfaced through both pain and high delight. It used to be his favourite pastime with Izuna. Regardless of how Madara had been acting, there was a slow to his heartbeat and now Tobirama could relish his wails and temperament in full. “Think of it as payback for all the times you used to drive us insane.”

“The snoring,” Hashirama chimed in, radiating extensive buoyancy. “It never ended! Right on the verge of falling asleep again-”, roots sprouted beneath Hashirama and formed small stumps, outward branches interlocking to create a makeshift bed he proceeded to lay in and mimicked an exaggerated snore. “I still don’t know how Tobirama survived sleeping next to you- wait! It’s like those street performers we saw! Throwing knives-”

“Hashirama! I trusted you!” Madara gasped, jumping to his feet. “And there’s no need to be so extra!”

Tobirama released a watery snort, unable to believe the words exiting the human’s mouth. “ _Very rich coming from you._ ”  

Madara huffed, balling his fists to the point of whitening skin. “All these years… I worried over you two… only to find out you two have turned into otherworldly assholes!”

Hashirama guided the sentient bed to conceal him, sniffling audible to Madara’s ears.

“So that would mean nothing has changed on my end,” Tobirama commented. He watched the human turned enough to offer his side to the half-serpent and raise his hands, swiping hastily at the corners of his eyes. The corner of Tobirama’s eyes crinkled at the sound of Madara yelping, having taken a barrage of water to his side.

“ _Teasing aside, at least you now know your favourite people aren’t dead,_ ” Hashirama mumbled, refusing to show his face.

Madara progressively stilled, returning to his previous position and looked to Tobirama. Tears welled in his eyes, coating the outer sclera a rosy pink. He nodded, exhaling a breath of relief. Madara watched the other disappear briefly underwater; lazily pulling away at the hair clinging to his face upon return.

“But what if the village elders don’t tell me anything?”

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t,” he answered. “What they decide to tell you is up to them. We have no say in it.”

Brows furrowed, hands moving to tug at charred locks. He resigned himself to a long sigh, no longer questioning Tobirama despite the need for it. Vines deconstructed, returning to soil and Hashirama rose to crooked feet. The latter began to submerge himself, yet the look in his eyes spoke departure rather than momentary wetting.

“Come back the day after tomorrow, and ask how Itama and Kawarama are doing.”

 

* * *

 

The path back to the village felt longer than usual, even as he ran and jumped over clutters of stray roots. Wind whipped at his limbs and his heart leapt into his throat, apprehensive of what was to come. Ignoring various folks’ greetings, he raced from gates to the center, where a rickety old building awaited.

He tugged his robes closer to his form, rubbing sweaty palms along the material before barrelling in. A pair poked their heads from beneath two opposite tables, Madara’s coming announced by the door’s creaks and groans of protest.

“ _Tell me everything you know about Hashirama and Tobirama_ ,” Madara spat, poison woven into his tone.

Wide eyed, they spent several minutes silenced with unhinged jaws. Not once in their wildest dreams had they expected to hear someone utter _their_ names, let alone with such venom that begged the question of friend or foe.

One elder narrowed dulled eyes to better view the mass of anger and shadow. Without so much as waiting for the other, she spoke. “They were once children here, belonging to a family with two younger brothers. For as long as we’ve known, there has always been someone protecting the village. Before them was Butsuma, the father.”

“Itama and Kawarama,” Madara breathed. “How are they doing? Are they still in the village?” Though he earned himself a quirked brow and she found her answer, she continued.

“They’re well and still in the village, living with their mother. We don’t know anything about the monsters, only that we strike a contract with every new… protector,” she muttered. “In exchange for food and keeping Itama and Kawarama in the dark, they keep both village and trade path safe.”

“Food?”

“Their mother’s cooking.”

“...mother?”

“She was once the messenger.”

Madara processed the words slowly, drawing out ideas and conclusions that would vanish with the coming thought. He cast away a spark of irritation to an olden lie, knowing it would be brought up at a later point. “Who’s the messenger now? What do they have to do? How often do they go? Is-” He spewed questions without end, prompting the speaker to rise and usher him out.

“Search the outskirts of the city for their home. It should be the only one inhabited, so it shouldn’t be hard to find.”

 

* * *

 

If there was one thing Madara was grateful for, it was for the fact that it was the only house on the outskirts that could even resemble the idea of being occupied. It also happened to be the sole house that had been near entirely shrouded by florets of an orange gradient. Cascading from the roof, it spilled over the corner, left to sway with impending winds. Evidence of a construction site had all been removed, only a patch on the wall that bore a shade brighter to its surroundings.

He waited to gather his breath and then knocked, waiting patiently. As patiently as one with an inexorable loop of questions playing within his head could. He caught the smallest ripple of fabric from the interior curtain, gaze extending past windowpanes into beige material. Softened clicks forced his head to turn, attention narrowing on the door handle.

At least Madara could now envision which of his parents Tobirama took after. Long snow tufts curled delicately at the bottom, warm crimson irises and a welcoming smile greeted him. A thick streak of red rest at upper eyelids, fanning out into a quartet of wings; wrinkling at the corners.

“Yes?” came a soft question, blanketed with interest and spoken so low Madara had to strain his ears. Dumbstruck, he shook his head briefly and not nearly as exaggerated as often.

“T-the… the village elders said I could find you here,” he swallowed, “are you Hashirama and Tobirama’s mother?”

“I am,” she responded. “You’re Madara, right?”

He blinked multiple times, brows on the rise. The expression was quickly quelled when he remembered a particular tidbit. “I- yes. I guess you’d know, being the former messenger.”

“They wouldn’t tell me much beyond your name, but I do have to thank you for keeping them in the village for that much longer. That aside, is there something you want to know?”

“About the messenger, what are they exactly?”

“The job is as simple as carrying a parcel to a marked location,” she explained. “They have two types of hungers to feed, one for the human side and one for the monster side. Only in the mornings do they leave, because the ones that tried to do their jobs at night never returned. Before you ask, there is no current messenger as Hashirama doesn’t want to risk lives any more than people naturally do.”

“Naturally do?”

“People who leave at night or those that think they can kill something on their own without previous experience,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“And for the two types of hunger, the monster’s hunger…”

“Humans.”

Madara exhaled slowly and audibly, folding arms over a broad chest. _Humans_. “If there’s no messenger, how do the parcels make it to them?”

“Hashirama’s sapling. It sneaks over the wall before dawn.”

“And if someone wants to become a messenger?”

“Unlikely, but if that’s what _you_ want to do, you should bring it up with Hashirama. Tobirama wouldn’t try to consider it in the slightest,” she sighed, fingertips soothing her temple with clockwise circles. “If Hashirama’s anything like his father, it wouldn’t be too hard to get him to agree.”

Madara shifted his weight from one leg to the other, soon pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling a quieted hum. “Tobirama asked about Itama and Kawarama. The village elders said they were fine, but I think he’d want more of an answer than ‘fine’.”

Mirroring his hum, fingers found purchase on her chin and tapped away absently. “What say we visit them tomorrow? I’ll prepare some extra food and we’ll leave just as morning comes.”

 

* * *

 

By the time he returned, bleary sight guided him. Bags framed exhaustion on his countenance, speaking volumes of unfathomable fatigue. She, however, was brimming with excitement and energy, perhaps even overflowing much like Hashirama once was. A concealed basket hung from her forearm, cautiously swinging with her every bounce.

“Okay! We’re going to climb the vines!” She announced loudly, forgoing the exchange of pleasantries entirely.

“Yeah okay, we’re gonna climb the v-” Madara mimicked, stopped and stared at her incredulously much like he would stare the same way at her sons. He then looked to the vines, blinked once and all together, his features grew wide and brows lifted high. “I’m sorry, we’re doing what?”

“Climbing! The! Vines!” continued her cheer, each word spoken on a different breath through her rise. Her heels dug into the plants, finding her way to the top without a single hitch. It couldn’t have been her first time, not in a million years. Nevermind the _footwear_ of her choice, but to stand atop the wall so triumphantly - Hashirama was a miniature version of her, looks exempt.

Could Madara bear to make himself a fool in front of her? Heavens, no. Did he do so anyways when he slipped halfway through due to shabby sole placement against thinned vines despite warnings? Heavens, absolutely. Betwixt words of guidance were rumbling cackles and he was three hundred percent intimidated by the woman. He had to wonder if he was going to even return to the village at this rate.

Descending the wall had been easier and once she adjusted the placement of her basket, she lead onward.

“Do Itama and Kawarama not come along?” Madara asked, only a few footsteps behind her and pushing away sickly branches.

“Too much noise could attract the unwanted, so they do visit rarely. It’s more when Hashirama and Tobirama come close by. Hashirama and Kawarama are a disastrously loud duo.”

“I can believe that,” he mumbled. “The village elders said they were kept in the dark.”

“That’s what I tell them so that they won’t go fussing about,” she grumbled. “Itama and Kawarama write letters to them,” she wriggled the arm bearing gifts for her sons, “and Tobirama tries to write back but a lot of it is smudged.”

“Explains why he wanted to learn back then,” Madara mused, entertaining the memory. “And why he preferred going to Izuna for ‘better’ answers.” A brow jerked.

“If we bump into Tobi before Hashi, I’ll be mildly surprised. He spends all his time sl-” Heels dug into soil discreetly and she grasped Madara’s bicep to still his next step. She pointed ahead of them, into a shadowed pond where a lazy log had been drifting.

Only, upon closer inspection which took roughly half an hour to assure neither would wake up the serpent, a small bit of pink poked through the gaps of needlesque teeth. The end of the tail sunk, submerging a good portion of the appendage.

“ _You’re both still loud_ ,” came the muffled comment, not even bothering to crack open an eyelid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hashirama: Wood release (overall), Wood Dragon jutsu (pupil colour, teeth, nose), True Several Thousand Hands jutsu (additions to the back), Sage Mode markings (around the eyes/cheeks, the circle/sphere combo shifted from forehead to iris/pupil)
> 
> Tobirama: Water release (overall), Water Dragon jutsu (pupil colour), Naga


End file.
